


Candor

by Aobh



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Comfort, Elnor is a space baby and that is a fact, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, La Sirena Family, Loss, Love, Space Legolas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aobh/pseuds/Aobh
Summary: "Over time he came to see them all as Mothers, but there was only one he could see as a father."Or, an alternate summary: On a warm August day, Elnor ponders all the true things he knows and reads to a very dear friend.
Relationships: Elnor & Jean-Luc Picard, Elnor & Laris (Star Trek), Elnor & Zani (Star Trek)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	Candor

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a way to sort through the barrage of feelings the finale washed over me aha So if you also felt a lot of things, I'm sure you'll enjoy this. It's about Elnor's understanding of loss, but also his love and the comfort he finds in its truth. It sifts through stream of consciousness, memory and present. It is designed to be read slowly, even aloud and meant to evoke a dreamlike setting.

It is a truth, Elnor has always known, that all humans die. Romulans perish too, of course, but far later than their human counterparts.

Other truths, however, came with time.

Though she loudly criticised the need for reality productions in an advanced universe, Soji's truth was that she secretly watched an obscure Oklayta cooking show after everyone had gone to sleep. Raffi always pretended to have one sugar with her morning coffee but Elnor knew she secretly dropped three more cubes in when no one was looking. Seven of Nine gave the best hugs this side of the Beta Quadrant but she'd kill him before he could tell anyone. Rios liked to sing 20th and 21st Century musical numbers when no one was on the Bridge but always called him Mijo when he was drunk. And Agnes Jurati's quiet sobs were only ever soothed by the cold comfort of starlight she had once feared.

Their collective truth was that they babied him.

Elnor might have put up a front of indignation, but he was well aware that he indulged their behaviour. He liked to bask in their attention, in a way he hadn't fully been able to when he was young. Over time he came to see them all as Mothers, but there was only one he could see as a father.

He had learned at a young age that Humans were frail and prone to stupidity. They lived so briefly and felt so fiercely that their actions were inevitably often irrational. That, Sister Mother had taught him, made them dangerous. Their allegiances tended to be flimsy at best; their intentions always flitting between altruism and opportunism. They were untrustworthy. But it was nigh impossible to resist the call to bind your sword to their cause. Such was their existence; one long defiance. Their lives were so short and yet they always ran towards death at full speed. That meant that their causes would always be lost. And Jean-Luc Picard was no different.

The Way of Absolute Candor was the way of all Qowat Milat. They believed that verbal emotion could transcend all barriers through truth.

It was this truth, they believed, that brought comfort and clarity.

From the moment he met him, Elnor knew that one day Jean-Luc Picard would die. It was a fixed truth, unmoveable in time. This should have brought Elnor solace as all truth did. But knowing that Captain Picard was finite was the one truth that didn't bring any comfort at all.

"Humans are like children," Sister Mother Zani had said softly, when he himself was small.

They were sitting on the back ledge of the Qowat Milat home in North Station. He was nestled between her legs as she brushed his hair. His small legs hung over the side, swinging back and forth over the drop.

On a mountain far from theirs, water gushed from its peak and thundered down into the forest below. So great was the volume of water that it could be heard quite clearly, all these miles away. The falling stream caught the light so that it looked to be great gems that fell instead, cluttering to the ground to be found by greedy hands.

Below his swinging feet, Market Place was awash in beams of golden light. His hawk-eyes tracked other children running through the streets. Other orphans and fosters. Just like him. Loneliness bloomed in his chest at the sight of them, but the feeling was quickly chased to the recesses of his mind by Sister Mother's voice.

"It makes them unpredictable." She continued, warm hands smoothing the hair she diligently brushed.

The tips of her free fingers tickled his neck. He tried to resist but the giggles bubbled from his chest unbidden, mingling with the falling water and the distant shrieks of happy children.

How, he could remember thinking, could he ever be lonely when Sister Mother was near?

The other Sisters had always been less open with their affection. They weren't _cruel_ , merely reserved. Never had he voiced the observation though, too afraid of their Candor to pluck up the courage. But he was keenly aware that he was not _of_ them, only a foster to be handled off to another family that wasn't his. But Sister Mother, though the greatest amongst the Sister's in combat, was also the softest and most free amongst them with her love.

And it _was_ love. Though the other Sister's deemed it irresponsible to show and voice such emotion to a foster child, she made a point of saying it often. But even if she hadn't, Elnor didn't need Candor to know what she felt. Instead, the truth of her emotion was in the way she brushed his hair. It was in the act of giving him half of her Patika bread each time he finished his at evening meal. It was the softness in her eyes when her gaze would settle on him. And most of all, it was in the way she tucked him in before bed. In the soft kiss of her lips to his forehead and her terrible attempts to do the voices when she read to him. When she read, he didn't even wish it was Picard at his bedside, that's how he knew he loved her too. Even when she messed up Aramis' voice. Even then. _Especially_ then.

"If they're like children," he remembers squeaking, because he was young and his voice was high and wistful. "Why do they rule the heavens?"

Silly, of course. He had meant The Federation, but he was small then. And Space was so vast and unimaginably filled that it had seemed like one long Heaven. High above. Untouchable.

Sister Mother chuckled against his back but her hand jerked and a brush bristle caught the tip of his ear, making him flinch and yelp. She cooed instantly, soothing his whine with kisses to his cheek until he giggled and wriggled in her lap and forgot all of his pain. As he moved, he should have been afraid of falling but there was nothing to be afraid of when Sister Mother was near.

When he was calm again, she resumed her work, this time mindful of his sensitive ears.

The sound of the brush gliding through his hair mingled with the distant roar of the waterfall and in time, his eyes had begun to droop, lulled into security by the warmth of the setting suns and the joy of being with Sister Mother. It was a long time before she answered him and by then, his eyes were almost closed, and the question was already lost to his dreams.

"Because above all else," she murmured, just on the edge of his consciousness. "They have the noblest of intentions."

The memory becomes hazy then. He's certain that he fell asleep but before he did he remember the press of her muscled arms around him and the shift of gravity as she picked him up and settled him to bed. It might have been a long time ago, but the memory and its lesson has always stuck with him. And as he climbs the stone steps of Château Picard, the message is again reinforced.

He should be used to grief by now, he reasoned. He had a life before Vashti. He had siblings and parents. He had been happy. And then the sky had burst into flames and all was lost. There was Third of Five, too. Who he remembers on days such as these. It's been years, but he can sometimes still map Hugh's smile in the stars. It had been a heavy loss and though it was healed now, it was ever felt.

The Vineyard is built of brick and heavy pine and the acidic smell of wine was inescapable. All the windows on the property were large and always open, even at night. Picard liked to be able to see the Galaxy, even as he slept. The openness reminded Elnor of North Station so being at the Château helped to chase the strange feeling he always experienced when he visited Earth.

Every time he stepped off a ship here, he was overcome by how _light_ he felt. He knew it was because the planet was smaller than Romulus and Vashti; that his physiology was built for denser gravity. But it was more, too. A feeling of being unfixed- _untethered_. Outside. Like he was floating on the periphery.

Anti-Romulan sentiment may have been falling, but not quickly enough. Soji, he imagined, felt it often and he was thankful that his experiences of it were only ever brief. The heavy wood and sunlight of Château Picard helped to ground him a little. Here he felt fixed, corporeal.

Picard's thin, raspy voice greeted him as he shouldered open his bedroom door. "So what have you brought to read to me today?"

The lack of _hello_ had Elnor rolling his eyes.

Captain Rios had taught the action to him when they left Coppelius. To Humans, the rolling of one's eyes was a sign of exasperation, or annoyance. But it could also signal affection when used in context with familiarity. It confused him at first. How could exasperation fuse with familiarity and form affection? That, of course, had been before he had travelled with Captain Picard for any extended period of time. Now, he understood.

"I've brought you five options, Captain." He said as he rounded the large bed and settled into the chair he has scarcely left for months. He doesn't mind though. Every time he sits, he commits the time he spends with Picard to memory. He was collating a detailed visual diary of their time together.

Human death was a truth, but one that could be prepared for. And he had had decades to do so.

"Melville had best not be in there again." Captain Picard grumbled, picky like a child.

His skinny arms shook as he pushed himself to sit up, but he slapped at Elnor's hand when he tried to help. Every day Picard grew weaker and every day he refused help. Stubborn old man.

Picard's index stabbed the air when he spoke. "I've said before, and I shall say it again, I cannot stand the-"

Elnor rolled his eyes again. "'-Juvenile language and predictable existential male crisis.' Yes. I know, Captain."

Picard laughed and when Elnor glanced at him, he was smiling. "Careful D'Artagnan, if you do that too much your eyes will get stuck that way."

Elnor's breath caught in his throat at the name. Only Jean-Luc Picard could pick a nickname for someone that was longer than their actual name. He hadn't heard the name in a while. But each time he did he was transported back to being young and alone on Vashti, always looking up to the stars and wishing his friend would visit soon.

Elnor cleared his throat.

"Genetically impossible." He said as he laid out the book choices on the bed. "Why do you call me D'Artagnan?"

He knows the answer already. He's already asked a thousand times. But he liked the answer so much that he kept asking. The Truth had never sounded so sweet to him.

"Because you are noble and good. And the hero of every memory I have of you." Picard replied easily, eyes roving over the books Elnor had carried from Raffi's house. "And if _you_ are D'Artagnan, then that means I am Aramis and we both know that I'm the good looking one."

Elnor grinned as Picard tapped the cover of _A Christmas Carol_.

"And how would you know?" Picard asked, as Elnor picked up the book and tried very hard not to roll his eyes again. What Picard's obsession with late nineteenth century literature was, Elnor would _never_ understand. To him they were trivial, riddled with run-on sentences and unnaturally focused on the plight of men only. But the last time he had said so, Picard had launched into a lecture that lasted hours. So lately, he had made the decision to stifle his Candor in relation to what books he was to read. "I'm sure that in some corner of the Universe it is genetically possible for your eyes to stick mid-roll."

Elnor snorted and flicked to the beginning of the book. He wasn't going to bother to reply, even as Picard devolved into a fit of raucous laughter.

" _Chapter One_ ," he read as Picard settled down with a secretive smile. " _My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip..._ "

*** * ***

They had just started Chapter Nine when the sun began its quiet descent.

Laris brought them dinner at around six, broth for Picard's weakening jaw and chocolate mousse for his persistent sweet tooth. She settled into an armchair opposite Elnor when they were finished, her latest knitting project occupying her hands. He made sure not to look too closely at the newest monstrosity. He still winced at the ear pull he had received when he had mistakenly spoken with Candor about her last piece.

Picard had been fighting exhaustion since Chapter Six, but as the last line of the page was being read his eyes closed as he succumbed to it. Elnor finished the sentence he was on and shut the book softly, marking his place with a scrap of cloth so he could pick it up tomorrow.

Quiet settled over the room and his own eyes closed so that he could wallow in the stillness. Grief, tempered over the years but ever present, settled on his shoulders and made them sag. The weight of The Truth threatened to overwhelm him. He'd had decades with Picard. More than he ever thought possible. He should have been _prepared_. The truth he had always known should have brought clarity. Death was inevitable. For Humans, Romulans, The Universe. Everything will die.

It was _truth_.

So where was his comfort?

A hand settled on his shoulder, breaking his thoughts. His eyes opened slowly, and Laris' smiling face swam into focus. Her hand squeezed and he tilted his head to rest his cheek against the warmth of her knuckles.

"You should stay." She murmured.

His eyes settled on Picard's chest, taking comfort in its steady rise and fall. A soft smile tipped his full lips.

He was almost forty, but Laris still worried about him walking home alone when it got too late. Ludicrous, of course. He might have only been forty and ten years shy of true Romulan maturity, but he was also a fully trained Qowat Milat. His hand to hand combat was second to no other race. He would be safe. But still, it was nice to let her fuss over him.

Laris reminded him of Sister Mother. He missed her dearly, but he knew that at the end he would go to her like he did when he was small and had fallen and scraped his knees. She knew how to heal all wounds. Even matters of the heart.

"I will be fine, Laris." He twisted his head to kiss her knuckles as she tutted above him.

Tutting is a very human expression, so it was strange to hear it coming from a Romulan. The sound meant disdain or annoyance. But like with eye rolling, when mixed with familiarity it could also signal affection. This he learned from Raffi, who tutted whenever he hid her wine but smiled as she did.

"Plus, who else will feed Raffi and Seven of Nine?"

It wasn't a joke, but Laris laughed anyway.

"True." She said and pat his shoulder before pulling her hand away. "Come a little earlier tomorrow then. I'll make you breakfast. You and Picard can eat outside in the garden."

He hummed, happy. The prospect of spending even more time with his favourite human was enough to already make the grief of tomorrow bearable.

As Laris tucked Picard in he gathered his things and left _A Christmas Carol_ on the nightstand for tomorrow. He picked up the discarded dinner plates and was halfway out the door before Picard's voice stopped him.

"Leaving so soon?"

Elnor turned back, leant against the open door and watched Picard stubbornly push at the blankets covering him. Stubborn child.

Laris passed him and stole the tray he had been going to bring to the kitchen for her.

"Go back to bed, Picard." She called over her shoulder, cutting Elnor off as he opened his mouth.

She shot him a grin over her shoulder and disappeared down the hall. His ears twitched as he listened for the scrape of her feet as she safely reached the kitchen on the other side of the vast Château.

"I will _go_ when I'm good and ready!" Picard shouted with a laugh, knowing that the Romulan woman could hear him perfectly well, wherever she was.

"You'll be good and ready when you're dead which will come sooner if you don't _rest_." Laris muttered from the kitchen. Elnor couldn't stop the frown that marred his face.

"Did she say I'll be good and ready when I'm dead?" Picard asked.

Elnor managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "She is right, you know."

"I know." Picard smiled. "But resting means that I miss the entire Universe. And I want to remember everything. Even after."

Elnor felt his throat constrict and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He looked at the floor, willing himself to contain it. Death is inevitable. He _knows_ this. So why was it so hard?

"It's alright, Elnor." Picard whispered.

But how could it ever be?

When Elnor finally dragged his gaze from the floor the look he gave Picard was desperate.

"I'm _scared_." He mumbled, grief welding his mouth together so that the words bled as one, long plea.

Picard nodded gently and exhaled a slow breath. "I know."

There was a pause and then the truth spilled from Elnor's lips as his emotion swelled and forced them out.

"To lose you- I do not think I can bear it. You're like a- you _are_ my-"

The truth stuck to the sides of his throat and he later, he would marvel at the force of his emotion that even words couldn't give justice to it. Now though, he could only feel frustration that Candor would fail him when he needed it most. But it didn't matter though. Because Picard's eyes softened minutely and Elnor knew that he had already been understood.

The Captain studied him, eyes traversing the planes of his face. And just like when he was small, Elnor preened under the attention of his hero and let pride fill the gaps his grief ate away at. The sun dipped below the hilly horizon and the holo lamps flickered to life around the room. It gave the wood a gentle orange glow and for a second, it looked so much like North Station that Elnor was sure Sister Mother would sweep around a corner and chastise him for some minute transgression.

Picard's tone is steady and true.

"I know that I have never said it before." Here he had the humility to look abashed. "But I love you very much. And because of that love, because of its _truth_ , I know you can bear what is to come."

Humans did not follow The Way of Absolute Candor. Their truths were always hidden in words and run-on sentences. They hid from their truths as though they feared them. Their Candor was expressed in action, the same as Sister Mother's sometimes had. And because of this, even though this is the first time Picard had told him he loved him, Elnor already knew it to be so.

He knew he was loved in the way Picard always spooned a little of his soup into Elnor's bowl on Tuesdays because he knew that beetroot and ham was his favourite flavour. He knew it in the scraggling squawk Picard let out whenever Elnor got a voice wrong when he read to him. He knew it in the pictures on Picard's nightstand of teams old and new, half hidden behind a portrait of a grinning Elnor. He knew it in the voice commands of Picard's home being programmed to respond to him too and lastly, he knew it in the look Picard gave him when he thought that Elnor could not see. It was soft and warm and reminded him of the look Sister Mother gave him when he visited Vashti. He knew it just the same as he was sure that the Universe was vast and beautiful. He knew it just as he knew his own love for Picard was immeasurable.

"But that love does _not_ mean that you may ever bring another Herman Melville novel into our Home-" Picard rants but Elnor is too preoccupied by _'Our Home'_ to pay much attention.

There are a thousand emotions wanting to be spoken in truth.

One is that at the end- the _true_ end, when all things were remade, he would _find_ him. And that when Elnor perished he would meld all heavens together so that they could spend existence reading in sunlight and joy. Candor demanded that Picard _was_ his father- that blood didn't matter and that they were one despite genetics. The truth was, that he was also terrified- scared of a Universe without Picard in it. And that the hole Picard would leave would never be full and he was frightened that no amount of Sister Mother or Raffi or Rios or Soji would ever be able to fill it and what did that make Elnor then, if he could not be whole? A thousand truths danced to the tip of his tongue and made it twist in his mouth until none could escape. Years ago, he would have said them all, but he had learned that humans didn't need a thousand truths. They only needed one.

"-And the _writing_. Classic literature it may be but intellectual it is _not_. You can direct quote me on that I-"

"I love you too." Elnor interrupted.

Picard stumbled over his rant and then rolled his eyes. Annoyance mixed with familiarity to produce affection. Love. _Truth_.

"I _know_." Picard waved his hand in the air, ever awkward with the truth so candidly given. "Now, about Melville-"

"Bed!" Laris called as she marched back into the room. She had an extra blanket draped over her arm and a glare tugged her brow tips even higher. " _Now_!"

Elnor slipped away just as Laris bent to twist Picard's ear. It was a Romulan thing and wouldn't hurt Picard the way it did them, but the chastisement would be all the same.

"Night, Picard." He called as he left.

In between his argument with Laris about the technicality of him already being in bed and thus a command for rest must be clearer, he heard his name again.

Picard's Candor echoed through the stone and wood walls and followed Elnor as he descended the front steps into the night.

"Goodnight, D'Artagnan."

Elnor waved to the guard at the gate on his way out, just as the first stars winked into existence in the darkening sky. As he walked home amidst all the imagined dangers Laris feared, something occurred to him.

He knew why Picard called him D'Artagnan. He had asked a thousand times already but tomorrow, he thought, he'd ask again. And maybe the day after. And the day after that, too. Because even though he had learned the answer by heart, he had never thought that there was Candor _within_ the sparse words.

And that truth was that every time Picard called him D'Artagnan, he meant something else. Something deeper, and older. A truth born with the Universe of true kin, bound by something unquantifiable and not as flimsy or changeable as blood.

He smiled, feeling light. The burn of Orion's belt mingled with silver moonlight and chased away the shadows around him. His boots crunched against earth and foliage and he thought, maybe _this_ is the truth that could bring him solace.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it! Drop a kudos or let me know in the comments what you liked (or didn't!). I'm not the most knowledgeable of Star Trek so let me know if I got something wrong. I've taken a bit of licensing for Romulan physiology due to there not being much information to research. 
> 
> For those waiting for a Vile Vortices update it IS coming and I'm sorry it has taken so long. As always, find me on Twitter [HERE](https://twitter.com/aobh_fanfiction) if you'd like to talk a bit more. 
> 
> Take care and be safe in these trying times,  
> \- Aobh x


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